Full
disclosure: I'm a hypocrite. Uptown parking fetishists who believe
walking a block from their cars to their houses in their urban
neighborhood qualifies as a hardship worthy of public sympathy make my
skin crawl. I'm also a full-throated believer that the swelling of our
ranks by new residents in love with New Orleans is good for us all --
provided I don't have to wait in any really long lines as a result.

And it appears my patience with progress is going to be tested.

ELIOT KAMENITZ / THE TIMES PICAYUNEThe red velvet cake at Atchafalaya.It
has been tested at Vaughan's, where trying to catch a glimpse of Kermit
Ruffins on a recent Thursday approximated the futility of showing up at
Augusta expecting to get a clear view of a Tiger Woods tee shot. It
happens when I discover my old short-cuts across town bottle-necked
with traffic. And it has happened during brunch at Atchafalaya
Restaurant.

The first visit was an education. At just past noon on a Sunday,
the bodies were pressed so thick together around the host stand I
turned hostage negotiator -- I'm going to open the door slowly!
-- in order to push my way inside. Famished, the hour wait for a table
was a deal breaker for us, but it was clear why others persevered. A
live band was taking advantage of a fine moment -- brilliant spring
weather, an audience amply nourished by secular spirits, both from the
regular bar and the make-your-own Bloody Mary buffet -- to convert what
could have been chaos into excitement.

Crowds frustrate, but they tend to form for a reason. That they have
been attracted to Atchafalaya is evidence that the restaurant is
finally emerging from a near decade-long swoon, one that saw its run,
back when it was still called Cafe Atchafalaya, as a practitioner of
pure Southern cuisine peter out to the point where a new owner came in
to renovate and reinvent. That project didn't bear fruit until sometime
in the past year, when yet another owner started giving the people what
they want: a neighborhood restaurant that offers an attractive
alternative to what New Orleans neighborhood restaurants typically
provide.

Latest proprietor Tony Tocco, who took over Atchafalaya in December
2008 and runs it with partner Rachael Jaffe, has extensive experience
in small businesses that make big impacts. He's a veteran of the dining
rooms at Gautreau's, Lilette and Bayona and a founding partner of the
Circle Bar and Snake & Jake's Christmas Club Lounge.

With Atchafalaya, Tocco and Jaffe inherited a restaurant whose
do-it-yourself renovation reveals the work of craftsmen who understand
public spaces have personalities all their own. The halved, giant
three-dimensional frying pan stuck to the restaurant's exterior
instantly turned the wood-paneled building into a neighborhood
landmark, but the interior is arguably Atchafalaya's biggest asset, a
barroom separated from the narrow but airy dining room by a wall of
storm-salvaged window frames fit together in see-through collage.
The restaurant sources light from small side-street windows by day and
bulbs set in cubes of thick glass hanging low from high ceilings at
night, illuminating a giant oak tree engraved into the natural wood
behind whoever is lucky enough to occupy the primo corner table.

ELIOT KAMENITZ / THE TIMES PICAYUNERoom with a view: A collage of storm-salvaged windows separates the bar from the dining room at Atchafalaya.

Food: Good. Chef Mark Springfloat's food tends to
speak new American with a southern drawl, and at its best it follows
the restaurant's smart style with genuine substance. But the food too
frequently falls short of the restaurant's own admirable ambitions.

Ambiance: Very good to excellent. The restaurant's
renovation reveals the work of craftsmen who understand public spaces
have personalities all their own. The smart style on display is a
serious asset.

Service: Good to very good. Crowds can tax the
staff in noticeable ways, but the restaurant manages to be welcoming
even when it is bursting at the seams. The reservations system is in
need of fine-tuning.

At
its best, Atchafalaya's food follows its smart sense of style with
genuine substance. An appetizer of fried oysters and shoestring fries
in tasso cream is fish and chips as imagined by a master chef from
Lafourche Parish. Quail wrapped in bacon and boudin-stuffed is
delicious, but its side of juicy-not-squishy collards nearly steals the
show.

They are examples of dishes chef Mark Springfloat handles
particularly well. A holdover from the restaurant's previous ownership,
the chef's food tends to speak new American with a southern drawl,
although he isn't bound by any one script. A special one night last
week involved seared, coriander-dusted tuna on a bed of wilted spinach
tossed with mango-bacon vinaigrette. Another appears frequently enough
to qualify as a signature: a sheet of thin pasta folded into a large,
single free-form ravioli, its surface dimpled by lobster-shiitake
filling and painted in a rich citrus beurre blanc.

The latter dish would have blended nicely into the repertoire of a
restaurant with higher aspirations. The former? Not so much. While I
nodded yes when the waiter asked if the chef's preference for cooking
tuna rare aligned with my preferred way for eating it, the fish arrived
grey nearly to its center, and the spinach provided little more than a
green background. It is one of this kitchen's ticks, in fact, to finish
ideas with refugee produce from undistinguished salads. The mesclun
filling out a shrimp appetizer couldn't disguise the fact that the
crustaceans had been drowned in a syrupy, sweet-spicy sauce.

These weaknesses would likely go unnoticed if Atchafalaya didn't set
the bar for its own success so high. I might, for example, have
remembered that tuna for its merits had it been priced at a more
neighborly level. But at $27, a dish needs more than presentational
flare and fresh-tasting (if overcooked) fish to recommend it. (A starch
would have been nice, too.)

Prices -- dinner entrees average just over $23 -- aren't the only
thing that left me wishing Atchafalaya's reach always paralleled its
grasp. It has its own achievements to live up to as well.

Save for a dried out square of bread pudding, all of the desserts I
tried were products of meticulousness, particularly the thoroughly
moist red velvet cake and tiramisu richened with cream cheese frosting.
The cocktail program is strong -- you'll find Alan Walter of Iris
behind the bar a couple nights a week -- and Tocco and Jaffe recently
brought on a sommelier to up the ante on the wine service. They are the
kinds of talent investments one makes to complement a kitchen hitting
on all cylinders -- and unwittingly expose more clearly when it's not.

Similarly, I never visited Atchafalaya when the food didn't leave me
wanting more, in both good and bad ways. Tepid chicken-andouille gumbo seemed
less excusable for being followed by shrimp and grits that showcased
Springfloat's tenure in Charleston, S.C. -- he studied there at Johnson
& Wales -- to such positive effect. Both the grilled pork chop and
crawfish-stuffed flounder were pictures of culinary aptitude. They were
also both depressingly underseasoned.

Atchafalaya has a lot going for it, but it has a lot of room for improvement as well.

The road leading up to the afternoon I finally tried the brunch was
bumpy. (Let's just say the process of obtaining a reservation reminded
me of the last call I placed to the Department of Motor Vehicles.) Not
everything we ordered lived up to expectations, either. (It was
difficult to tell where the poached eggs ended and the hollandaise and
creamed spinach began on a plate of eggs Florentine.)

But the meal also included thick-cut bacon and a pitch-perfect
croquet madame and was bookended by margaritas made with fresh squeezed
limes and a doorstop slice of that great red velvet cake.

I left feeling as if I got a slice of the fun I missed out on that day when we could barely get through the door.

The restaurant may be a work in progress, but it is a positive sign of one, too.